


Two Birds, One Stone

by firethesound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Ugly Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/pseuds/firethesound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with a former Slytherin has its price, but it's okay because two can play at that game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Birds, One Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Dwie pieczenie na jednym ogniu](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299088) by [lilyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyan/pseuds/lilyan)



“Harry,” Draco said. His voice trembled a little as he spoke. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Harry hurried out of the kitchen and stopped in his tracks at the devastated look on Draco’s face. His first thought was that someone had died, and for a long, agonizing moment he was trapped between needing to know who, and fear of having his suspicions confirmed.

Because there were only two groups of people that would have Draco reacting like this, and Draco didn’t look upset enough for it to be his own parents.

“Was it one of the Weasleys?” Harry asked.

Draco’s face grew pale as he nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

A cold feeling seeped through every vein in Harry’s body. He hadn’t known just how badly he’d wanted to be wrong until that moment. “Oh my god.”

“It was the orange one,” Draco said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“The orange one?” Harry repeated, still reeling. Normally Draco described them all as ginger; orange was taking it a bit far, especially under the circumstances. “Can you be more specific?”

“What? It’s the orange one, how much more specific would you like me to be?”

“A name would help,” Harry said, his shock rapidly giving way to anger. Harry certainly wasn't under any illusion that Draco had lost his ability to be cruel, but he never directed it at Harry anymore. And _now_ , of all times.

Draco stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “You’ve _named_ them all?”

“I didn’t… _They all have names, Malfoy._ Who was it?”

“I don’t know! You didn’t tell me about this naming business. They’re just jumpers, it’s not as if they could bloody well introduce themselves to me!”

There was a moment where Harry had no idea what Draco meant. And then it all sank in as the pieces came together and a sudden wave of relief made him giddy. “You’re talking about my Weasley jumpers!”

“Of course I am. What else would I be…” Draco trailed off as he added up the conversation as well. “Oh fuck, you thought I meant… I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Sometimes you rather are. And you’re lucky I know that by now or I’d be really upset because it looks sort of like you led in with that deliberately so that it’d seem that much less when you told me it was a bloody jumper and… Wait, my orange one, you said?”

Draco nodded.

“The same orange one you’re always telling me you’re going to throw away? Or set on fire? Or give to Kreacher so we’d be rid of two birds with one stone?”

Draco nodded again.

Harry’s hands curled into fists. “You fucking arsehole.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open. “It wasn’t _on purpose_ ,” he said. “I was trying to help!”

“You’re telling me you got the sudden urge to do laundry? When have you ever done laundry before in your life?” Before Draco could answer, Harry demanded, “Where is it?”

Sighing, Draco took his hands from behind his back, and there was the jumper. With a small cry, Harry snatched it from him and stretched it out. “What the fuck did you do to it?” he cried. The jumper looked like it had been hit with a potent Shrinking Charm and gone all weird and matted and sort of… lumpy. Lumpy? “How did you even…?”

“I washed it,” Draco said petulantly. “I wanted to help.”

“Why?” was all Harry could ask.

“Because…” Draco looked away and his cheeks turned pink. “I just wanted to. That’s all.”

The jumper crumpled in Harry’s hands as he resisted the urge to wallop Draco over the head with it. “Malfoy, you liar. What were you—”

“Because Weasley told me to, all right?” Draco burst out. “He said… Merlin, I can’t believe I’m telling you this. He said that sometimes when he helps out around the house, Granger shags him for it. And I just thought…”

“Wait,” Harry said, looking from his ruined jumper to Draco’s face. “You did the laundry because you wanted a shag?” There wasn’t a single part of it that Harry didn’t find baffling: that Draco was willing to do housework in hopes of sex when they fucked every morning like clockwork anyhow and then usually again in the evenings, or that he and Ron apparently got together and chatted about their sex lives.

“Well, you’re always on me to help out more around the house,” Draco muttered, folding his arms over his chest. “And I wanted to see if it really worked like that.”

Harry sighed. “You really are an idiot, sometimes. New rule: you are never to touch the laundry again. Ever.”

Draco nodded. “Agreed,” he said so quickly that Harry was instantly suspicious that perhaps _this_ had been Draco’s plan all along. Get rid of the sweater _and_ never have to do laundry again in his life. Two birds, one very neat stone. The peril of living with a former Slytherin, and really Harry had brought that on himself, hadn't he?

Harry sighed. “And Draco, if you ever want a shag, please just ask for it.”

“Agreed,” he said again, and sauntered forward to slide his arms around Harry’s waist. “So, do you think I might get that shag now?” He brushed the tip of his nose against Harry’s, clearly angling for a kiss.

With a final glance down at the ruined jumper in his hands, Harry set it aside and put his arms around Draco. He’d just ask Molly to knit a new one for him. Orange again, of course. Just… maybe something a few shades brighter. With the H done in bright yellow—no, in a nice bright lime green. That ought to offend every ounce of fashion sense Draco possessed. Harry smiled at the thought, and Draco smiled back in blissful ignorance. 

Really, this had worked out for the best. His old jumper had been getting a little bit ratty, with frayed cuffs and the wool had pilled from years of use. But now he’d get a new one, _and_ the obnoxious colors would be guaranteed to drive Draco absolutely mad, _and_ he wouldn’t be able to say anything about it because he’d ruined the first jumper. Getting a new jumper, irritating his boyfriend, and revenge, all at once. It really didn’t get any better than that.

 _THREE birds, one stone,_ Harry thought, and touched his lips to Draco’s in a gentle kiss. _Take that, Malfoy_.


End file.
